


La Découverte

by moonpride



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Dom/sub, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Hair-pulling, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:51:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10140176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonpride/pseuds/moonpride
Summary: In which Yuuri discovers that androgyny is not all there is to the costume he received from Victor almost a year ago.





	

The revelation came to him under the guise of a tiny paragraph at the bottom of a glossy page: a footnote to the main article, really.

In an attempt to make sense of the events behind always promising yet too sensitive for his own good Katsuki Yuuri’s rise to the GPF podium and legendary Victor Nikiforov’s abrupt decision to leave and then return to the ice, the journalist had deemed getting ahold of the stylist behind the costume that now represented a point where the lives of the two crossed and overlapped extremely important.

“Mr Nikiforov,” the paragraph read, “has always been a remarkable artist, other than an incredibly skillful athlete, choreographing most of his own programs and paying close attention to the choice of music. Therefore, when I was tasked with designing one of his costumes for the upcoming season, I told myself that, in the first place, I should try and understand to the best of my abilities what Mr Nikiforov was trying to get across with his routine. In the end, after many rewatches of the program, I decided that my design should be based primarily on two aspects. One was, Mr Nikiforov’s trademark image, which at the time was famously androgynous. The other… Well, the other was sensuality. But it was only after a chat with Mr Nikiforov himself that that concept evolved and the image of the costume as you know it manifested itself in my mind: from a vague, broad concept like sensuality, I was finally able to narrow it down to a single, very precise keyword: bondage.”

There it was. Little more than an afterthought enclosed in a bright pink box, and Yuuri’s world changed, shifted, turned upside down as it was wont to do ever since Victor had stepped into his life.

A single, very precise keyword, and Yuuri’s own image of the routine he’d watched countless times throughout his adolescence changed. Or, rather, it became clearer.

It was as if a veil had dropped, and now he was looking directly at Victor’s thoughts.

He’d wondered, back then, what it was that Victor longed for, as he watched him dance through the screen, neither man nor woman and sensual, unearthly beautiful yet distant like a cruel sovereign one moment, then languid, falling and reaching out as if waiting for someone to grab him and make him theirs. Yuuri had wondered what was it exactly, about that performance, about the what ifs and the scenarios that formed in his head as he watched, that set his heart and loins on fire like nothing else before.

Obviously, that Yuuri hadn’t known of the designer’s, of Victor’s intent, at the time. That Yuuri had also never kissed Victor (if not for a handful of clumsy pecks he’d sometimes allowed himself to press to the glossy surface of a poster, eyes screwed shut in shame).

That Yuuri who had never touched or been touched by Victor could have never imagined the way Victor’s face flushed and relaxed as if he were surrendering himself whenever Yuuri’s hand caught his hair or pushed against his chest; even when it was nothing more than a casual touch, even when Yuuri distractedly asked for help with a zipper or the laces of his skates.

For the current Yuuri, though, every single piece of a puzzle that stretched across more than half of his life, had finally come together.

 

The day after found Victor stumbling through Hasetsu’s Ice Castle with the whole load of flowers, plush toys and other gadgets that the audience had thrown into the rink stuffed between his arms. Today had been Yuuri’s day: one last performance, one last present to the sleepy town that had watched him grow up before he and Victor left for St. Petersburg.

As he looked down at the gifts, Victor felt his mouth go dry, remembering how the crowd had cheered for Yuuri, here and in Barcelona and in Russia and in China. Every time, he felt pride wash over him with an intensity that surpassed that of the times when he was the one standing inside the rink or on the podium. It wasn’t a sense of accomplishment as Yuuri’s coach, or at least not just that; it was not that, for the most part. Not by a long shot.

It was the beauty of Yuuri as he danced on the ice; it was the kisses: to the ring, on his hand, on his cheek, sent flying through the air from the center of the rink, and Yuuri’s tongue gliding over his lips, promising seduction and touches and more kisses on the skin that for now was still hidden under Victor’s clothes; it was Yuuri’s eyes searching for him.

It was Yuuri coming out of his shell to seduce him time after time, to flirt with him and make love to him through his dance before his opponents, the judges and the crowd.

It was - part of it was - all those people knowing what they were to each other, getting a glimpse of the beautiful, powerful Yuuri that had Victor Nikiforov on his knees, that at night and late in the morning on lazy days would in turns ride him and push into him with the same demanding, merciless kind of passion (ah, to be that young again!).

It was, the pride of belonging to such a person.

My Yuuri, Victor would think after each performance, throwing his arms around him before Yuuri even had the time to put his skate guards on, did you see what my Yuuri did? Isn’t he amazing? To think I belong to him! Me! I chose him and he chose me!

Eventually, one day, soon, Victor was going to put all those things into words and tell Yuuri in detail of all the ways he wanted Yuuri to hold him, grab at him, push him down and bully him and neglect him until Victor cried and then, with one last blow, finally melted and got a little closer to becoming one with the man he loved.

It was neither shyness nor a fear of rejection that had kept him quiet until now. Rather, Victor knew Yuuri well enough to know that he had to give him time and space to sort through things on his own first: there was a bright, unextinguishable flame burning deep inside of him, but it would only come out once Yuuri himself felt in control, at ease with his surroundings.

And as with all things involving Yuuri, this was well worth the wait, therefore, Victor thought with a frown, he really ought to drop those thoughts right now: he was already half-hard and in front of the locker room where Yuuri had rushed off to earlier, probably in the process of drying off after a shower or getting dressed. It wouldn’t have been the first time they got it on right after a performance but still, it wouldn’t do to lose himself in those fantasies when he was already so worked up, if he didn’t want to risk letting something slip through and make Yuuri feel cornered or overwhelmed.

Well, that’s where several months of repressing any non-platonic urge around Yuuri came in handy, he supposed.

Victor took a deep breath, put on his brightest smile and, finally, pushed the door open.

“Yuuri! That was amazing!” he declared cheerfully. Now, of course, he would move onto the critiques: as suggested by one of the websites he’d browsed on his first trip to Hasetsu, carrot and stick was indeed the best method! Look at where it had gotten his Yuuri! Even good old Yakov, proponent of the Soviet era stick-or-nothing method, could stand to learn a thing or two from him now: the times had changed! Victor smirked, mentally patting himself on the back, and dropped the mountain of gifts onto a bench.

It was then that he noticed that the locker room was oddly quiet, as if empty.

“Yuuri?” he called again.

“You made me wait,” said Yuuri’s voice in a tone that Victor did not recognize.

The words echoed through the room, firm and somewhat detached, albeit not cold.

Before Victor could even try to make sense of what was happening, he found himself straightening his back, like he did when he was still a schoolboy and a particularly strict teacher would reproach him for his sloppy posture. “Sorry,” he replied as if on autopilot. He made sure his voice was clear and loud.

Victor looked ahead and saw Yuuri; he saw Yuuri’s back, his arms - Victor could tell - folded against his chest; he saw the back of his bare feet, the hint of bruised ankles; he saw his hair still damp with sweat, his frame still enveloped by the shimmery material of the costume he wore for his Eros routine. The same costume Victor had worn years ago, dreaming of the day someone would appear and love him the way Yuuri did.

He knew right away that Yuuri had been waiting for him.

“Help me with the zipper,” Yuuri said. There was no _please_ , no _could you_ , not anything that would make the sentence come across as a request.

Because it wasn’t.

Victor realized that and swallowed.

He noticed, though, Yuuri’s fingers gripping one of his elbows a bit too tightly, a familiar sign of nervousness that made Victor’s heart melt and beat faster at the same time. _He’s trying so hard, my Yuuri is so strong, I’m so loved by this incredible, stubborn man_.

“Well?”

Victor could tell that Yuuri had tried to make his voice sterner, even as his head sunk a little between his shoulders. Ah, he mustn’t ruin this--Yuuri’s hard work and his own reward.

“Yes, forgive me.”

He walked closer, and pinched the small black zipper between thumb and forefinger delicately, as if it might break. He started pulling and the cloth began to open, unfolding like flower petals or a tender wound that crossed Yuuri’s back diagonally, from shoulder to hip.

Victor watched every newly uncovered inch of skin as if it were his first time looking at it. Something akin to hunger stirred within him as he discovered rivulets and beads of sweat; he wanted to lick Yuuri’s back clean if he’d allow him. Should he ask or should he wait. The possibility that he might not be allowed to speak unless spoken to first was frustrating as it was arousing. For a moment, he considered licking Yuuri’s skin anyway, wondering what kind of punishment he might receive for that, but he quickly pushed that thought aside, reflecting that pushing Yuuri to stray from whatever he’d planned would probably spook him, at this stage.

Which turned out to be the correct course of action - or perhaps, Victor was simply underestimating Yuuri - because Yuuri didn’t make him wait before taking charge again: before Victor could pull the zipper all the way down to his hip, he turned around and grabbed his wrist.

“No,” he said. “I won’t undress yet. You didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

Victor could feel his face heating up. Yuuri’s face was red, too; probably a mix of arousal and embarrassment. His sweet, beautiful Yuuri. He was so proud of him.

“That’s right, I apologize, Yuuri.”

“I, I didn’t say you could talk…!”

Victor shivered. He wanted to tell him: you’re doing great, don’t give up, don’t falter, but managed to keep quiet as instructed, and simply nodded his head.

“In fact, Victor,” he began with an adorable frown. “I can’t believe you’d keep something so important from me.”

Yuuri sat down on the closest bench, costume falling slightly off of his shoulders and legs open in a pose that was completely unlike the shy, polite young man who tried to occupy as little space as he could as if afraid to inconvenience others just by existing. His posture was confident as it was sensual and he seemed to stare Victor down even as Victor towered over him.

“Get down. On your knees.”

Victor did. Immediately. After all, he couldn’t have disobeyed even if he wanted to: his knees had given out as soon as he heard the words.

“Now, tell me, Victor: what did you think of when you wore this costume? Did you tell that designer? Something so intimate you wouldn’t even tell me?”

That designer? The costume? Ah--Yuuri must have read that article. He enjoyed reading and collecting articles that praised his Yuuri, and Yuuri’s well known habit of avoiding every and any comment from fans and press alike had made Victor careless. He’d assumed Yuuri would simply ignore the magazine, should he come across it.

“Oh no, no, Yuuri, I just--”

“Quiet. What were you thinking when you picked this costume for me? Reply with yes or no: did you want to see me, obedient and tied up, the way you presented yourself to the audience years ago?”

Victor’s heart sped up. So this was the moment of truth. And now that it had come he wanted to talk, talk, talk, let Yuuri know everything and do to him all those things he’d only ever dreamt of, let Yuuri punish him too, if he deemed it necessary, however he saw fit. But all he was allowed to say right now was, “No, no.”

“Did you… Did you hope for _this_ , then?”

“Yes,” Victor admitted, breathless. He tried to crawl closer but Yuuri held up a hand, stopping him before he could move any further or touch him. “Yes! I did! I wanted--”

“What did you want? Tell me, tell me in detail this time. Don’t hide… anything from me this time, alright?”

Yuuri’s blush had grown darker, spreading to his neck and what little of his chest could be seen. Victor watched Yuuri’s fingers slowly slide down his own chest, stuttering just a little bit out of shyness and excitement, but otherwise so deliciously tantalizing. They slipped down, down, until the tip of Yuuri’s index finger touched the bulge that had formed between his legs. Victor saw him twitch and could only imagine from memory how sensitive Yuuri must be right now, but more than anything, what was driving him crazy was that Yuuri knew he was in control, knew that Victor wanted him there, like that, and he was enjoying it. Yuuri, who grew hard and then harder when Victor praised him and worshipped his body with his mouth--He should have known: Yuuri was going to be perfect. He _was_ perfect.

“I would daydream,” Victor stopped, licked his lips, his mouth was dry and his own cock was starting to ache already. His thoughts were jumbled: too many confessions to make, he would never know where to start. “I would think back on that time you grabbed my tie and pulled me closer in front of everyone, I would remember your voice when you ordered me to keep my eyes on you and you alone. I’d imagine you, holding me down while you touched yourself, used my body until you came and I, I couldn’t.”

“You… couldn’t?”

“No, you wouldn’t let me. Not until,” he swallowed. “Not until you came, again and again, until you couldn’t anymore and I was crying because it ached so bad.”

Yuuri palmed himself almost frantically now: it was too much, everything was too much for him too, and, just like the Yuuri from Victor’s fantasies, he must have figured that with that much tension in the air and his stamina, even if he came now he would get hard again right away. Victor’s mouth watered at the thought of being allowed to lick Yuuri’s cock clean every time he came; his only reward for not touching himself or trying to grind up against Yuuri’s ass as he straddled him.

“What are you thinking about? You have to tell me,” Yuuri panted, reminding him, and so Victor did.

Yuuri’s head snapped back then. He moaned, so loud that the sound bounced from wall to wall for what seemed an endless stretch of time, and Victor was sure that everyone else still inside Ice Castle must have heard it, too. There was a distinct wet spot marring the crotch of his pants: he’d gotten so wet with precome that it had made it through his underwear, which was uncomfortably drenched by now, and the thick woolen material of his pants, without his own hand or Yuuri’s touching him. It was amazing.

Yuuri must have noticed too, because when he finally looked back at Victor, the first thing he did was to grab his hair and pull on it lightly, telling Victor that he was allowed to get closer, closer, closer, now, until his nose was touching the shape of Yuuri’s cock through the thin fabric of the costume.

It radiated a powerful heat and was sopping wet: Yuuri really did come in the end; he had come because of his fantasies, and Victor was being rewarded for it, was allowed the chance to make Yuuri come a second time with his mouth.

Another deep moan escaped Yuuri’s mouth as he felt Victor inhale deeply to take in the scent of his come, his sweat, his arousal as if it were some kind of appetizing aroma. To Victor it probably was.

"You are so amazing," he panted out.

Victor was licking him with such gusto and adoration that, were he just slightly more lucid, Yuuri would probably die from shame or the perverse sort of giddiness that pervaded him when he reminded himself that this was Victor Nikiforov - world’s most popular heartthrob, whom he had chased after for more than half of his life - that was currently sucking his dick through his sweaty costume like it was an honor.

"Please," whispered living legend Victor Nikiforov while rubbing his cheek against Yuuri’s cock. "Use me, Yuuri, use me to come." He was practically babbling. Yuuri’s cock, which had never really grown soft after he came the first time, sprang to full attention.

Victor was so good to him; he had always obeyed and, silently, careful not to hurt his pride or ruin his efforts, he had encouraged Yuuri when embarrassment and shame threatened to take over. His Victor, his beautiful Victor deserved a treat now, didn't he. Keeping in mind that sort of thing was one of Yuuri’s duties towards him, too.

"Victor, Victor, how would you like to come?"

"I want, I want, ah, Yuuri’s foot."

His Yuuri’s beautiful, battered feet. He wished he could lick them; suck on his toes and kiss his way up to Yuuri’s powerful legs and then, when he was satisfied, back to Yuuri’s dick. That was what he desperately wanted and, because Yuuri had demanded to know, he told him everything.

Yuuri groaned. Victor felt his cock twitch against his cheek and, for a moment, he dared to hope. But Yuuri was a cruel mistress and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

"Oh… Oh, but Victor, right now I need your pretty mouth to make me come. You said I should use your body to come, didn't you. Maybe…" he couldn't believe he was really saying this aloud, let alone to Victor Nikiforov. "Maybe, if you're good now, next time I’ll let you play with them. But only if you behave and make me come with your pretty mouth, okay?"

A mantra of _I will, I’ll be good, so please, please, please_ , left Victor’s mouth as he kept on nuzzling adoringly, licking and mouthing the shape of Yuuri’s hard cock through the fabric.

He whined like a dog when Yuuri petted his hair approvingly. "I really should give you a treat." He heard the faint murmur above his head.

When Yuuri’s foot pressed gently against his groin, the mix between surprise and light friction was enough to make him jump: it was good, so good, and painful because his cock had grown so sensitive, but even that pain was delicious, and, without thinking, Victor raised his hips to seek out more.

"If you keep that up I’ll stop," Yuuri tried to sound stern but it was obvious that he was getting too close to be able to sound convincing. Even so, there was no way Victor would break the rules Yuuri set when his pleasure came from adhering to them, and so, he pressed his hands to his thighs, keeping himself glued to the floor, and kept on servicing Yuuri.

The mix of pleasure and pain that washed over him with every press of Yuuri’s foot brought him dangerously close to the edge, but it was only after Yuuri cried out _Victor, Victor, I’m coming_ , muffled by his own hand, that Victor allowed himself to ask, can I.

"Yes, yes you can," Yuuri sounded frantic. His body tensed, head thrown back, and he grabbed Victor’s hair. Yuuri arched up, trembling as he came, his hand never leaving Victor’s hair. It hurt so good.

Victor let himself come once the warmth and taste of Yuuri’s release hit his tastebuds through the fabric. He wished he could lap it up, maybe next time he could, if he was good enough now.

Yuuri slid onto the floor, boneless, and the spell broke. Victor gathered him into his arms.

"Did I do well, Victor?"

"You were amazing. Thank you so much."

Yuuri giggled against his chest, half embarrassed, half proud.

"I know I’m inexperienced, but you can tell me about, about the things you want.”

Ah, his Yuuri was so, so cute, with his adorable blush and his beautiful laugh. He was so, so good to him. Unable to help himself, Victor rained kisses all over his face. “You’re right. I should have told you earlier. I will.” he promised in between pecks. “I will.”

“Good,” Yuuri chuckled. For a moment, there was a peculiar glint to his eyes. “If you do, we could get,” he swallowed, looking away; his expression softened, his face grew redder. “We could get r… rope. For next time, I mean.”

Victor sucked in a deep breath.

“ _Yuuri_!” he cried out, tackling the other to the ground.

Truly, if a god of skating really existed out there, this was the single, actual proof that Victor had been blessed by him.

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out much, much longer than I'd ever planned or imagined. Also a lot less about bondage or that damn zipper and a lot more about, well, Victor being a natural sub and his foot fetish, I guess. But as Kubo has taught us, these two will simply do whatever they want: writers have no power over them. So, maybe, I should have seen that coming, after all.
> 
> One thing that I really, really hope hasn't changed from my original draft and I was able to get across, is that Victor and Yuuri will always respect and meet each other in the middle, even while engaging in kinky sex.
> 
> No love story will ever be as good as YOI.
> 
> If you'd like to leave a request, prompt, scenario for a new fic (lewd or pure is all good), you can do so in a comment.
> 
> Until next time.


End file.
